Sylph's gaze met the man standing across from her.
For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Only the distant hiss of burning mana lingered in the air.
She lowered Tori gently to the ground, her movements fluid, deliberate almost reverent. Then she rose.
The man recoiled, terror flickering across his masked face.
Too late.
Sylph blurred forward. Her blade traced a single silver arc through the air, and a thin red line appeared across his chest. His body collapsed before the pain even reached his nerves.
Without pausing, she lifted Mica with one arm and gestured for Beatrice to follow.
The remaining masked men turned to flee but flight was meaningless before her.
She moved like the wind given shape. Every step was a whisper, every strike, a sentence. Bones shattered under her blows, the air itself echoing with their breaking.
One of the men cried out, channeling his mana. Frost gathered, swirling into a colossal spear of ice that blotted the sky. Its light refracted through the clouds, visible across the island like a beacon of death.
Sylph twisted aside. The ice fell, missing her by inches.
Her blade gleamed once. Twice.
The man froze in place, eyes wide, unable to move. Her cuts had severed his tendons, paralyzing him before he could react. She did not stop until silence returned until all movement ceased.
Then she turned back to the wounded.
Tori lay pale and motionless. Mica's arm hung lifeless at her side, the veins around it frozen and dark. Beatrice whimpered softly, her fur matted with blood and ash.
Sylph knelt beside them.
Her gloved fingers brushed Mica's cheek. Her voice, when it came, was barely a whisper.
"Who could have done this to you guys…?"
The question wasn't meant for an answer.
She began to work quickly hands steady, eyes glowing faintly with mana as she sealed wounds and drew out shards of ice. When she lit a small fire to thaw Mica's arm, the flame burned white, unnatural and silent.
Whether the arm would ever move again… only time would tell.
Far above them, on the shattered hill, Josh Caster sat alone.
The wind tugged at his hair, carrying the acrid scent of mana and blood. He rested on a slab of stone, staring at the glowing timer above the arena.
"Ten minutes left…" he murmured, his voice soft and confident.
The scoreboard shimmered faintly before his eyes:
1st — The Phoenixes (Josh Caster's Guild)
2nd — Eluetheria
3rd — Sonjuro
Josh sighed a sound that carried quiet satisfaction. His victory seemed certain.
Then he felt it.
A presence.
Something was climbing the mountain.
Josh turned.
And froze.
Sonjuro Kantetsu was dragging himself up the slope.
His body was a ruin of flesh and blood. Crimson streamed from his skull; his arm hung torn and useless. His breathing was ragged, yet his eyes… burned.
He looked like a corpse that had refused to die.
Josh rose slowly, disbelief shadowing his face. "You… you're still—"
Sonjuro's steps quickened. Flames erupted across his skin, his eyes igniting into molten gold.
"My final technique," he rasped. "I'm winning this… no matter what."
He vanished.
In the next instant, his fist was before Josh's face. The explosion followed a breath later.
The world went white.
When Josh opened his eyes, he was on his knees. His skin was blistered, steaming; the flesh around his face had peeled away, revealing raw muscle beneath. He screamed a sound that clawed at the edges of sanity.
Then a shadow bloomed behind him.
A giant beanstalk rose from the ground, its petals unfurling into a massive sunflower. From its heart fell a single droplet of water, glowing like a tear.
It touched his face and the wounds began to close.
Josh Caster stood once more, healed, eyes burning with fury.
Sonjuro met him head-on.
The two collided blade against fist, nature against flame. Sonjuro's bare hands struck with the weight of iron, every blow fueled by sheer will. Josh blocked one strike, then another, but the third hit drove the air from his lungs. Blood spilled from his mouth.
Sonjuro swept his legs out from under him.
Josh fell, branches bursting from the ground to catch him. Vines lashed out, stabbing into Sonjuro's body, but the man only roared, igniting himself from within.
The explosion that followed tore the earth apart.
When the smoke cleared, both men were broken things barely clinging to consciousness.
Sonjuro swayed, body trembling. He lifted his fist for one last strike—then faltered.
The fire in his eyes dimmed.
He fell, blood pouring freely from his mouth.
Josh stared, half in awe, half in horror. Then his expression hardened.
Branches erupted once more, wrapping around Sonjuro's limp form and hurling it from the hill's edge.
"Five minutes remaining!" the announcer's voice thundered.
Josh exhaled shakily. His mana was almost gone, yet he forced what little remained into the soil.
The ground responded.
Flowers blossomed across the hill, roots knitting into walls, sealing every path. Within moments, a forest had grown a prison of branches and petals surrounding him.
He sat within its center, at peace.
Then he closed his eyes and lost consciousness.
When Sunless Reglard awoke, the world was quiet.
He lay half-buried under rubble, the air thick with the remnants of that poisonous floral mist. His body was a patchwork of bruises and fractures. Blood crusted along his jaw. His eyes, sunken and ringed with exhaustion, flickered open.
The scoreboard shimmered faintly overhead:
1st — The Phoenixes
2nd — Sonjuro
3rd — Eluetheria
Then he saw it fourth-place timer rise.
A spark lit within him.
He began to move.
Every step was agony. His left arm hung broken; his right leg barely held his weight. But his will… his will did not waver.
He clawed through the fallen stone, dragging himself up the hill. Each breath came ragged, his blood leaving a trail behind him.
He reached the wall of branches.
They towered above him, woven tight as armor.
Sunless clenched his fist. Mana gathered at his fingertips, faint and flickering, and he drilled through.
The thorns tore at his skin, but he didn't stop. He burst through into the inner clearing just as his strength finally failed.
He collapsed at the summit.
And waited.
The timer continued to fall.
Thirty seconds.
Ten.
Five.
He held Eluetheria's position until the last second.
Then, with a final, echoing chime, the arena filled with a blinding light.
The exam was over.
"You went too far, Zane! These are children they could have died!"
The voice came from the observation deck above the field. One of the Association members, pale with anger, slammed his hand on the console.
Zane, the B-Rank overseeing the trial, rose from his seat. His smile was calm.
"Well," he said, turning away, "that's the hardship of being an adventurer."
His gaze lingered on the smoke still rising from the shattered mountain.
"If they can't survive this," he murmured, "then they'll never survive the world beyond."